


War will makes corpses of us all

by ShotgunOpera (emmadilla)



Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Coming to Terms with Death, Gen, Grief, Running Away, reflections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadilla/pseuds/ShotgunOpera
Summary: Randy fic, his musings after Bob's death, about his friend and the bad decisions he's made.





	War will makes corpses of us all

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of a work I posted a LONG time ago on ffnet. I'm probably going to eventually transfer everything, but probably not all at once. My name there was ShotgunOpera, I'm the same person, so please don't report this because I am me! I have not edited these works at all since they were first posted, so there may be mistakes. I'm not overly concerned, though, just keep in mind that these stories are almost ten years old now, so take it with a grain of salt. :)
> 
> The quote is from Lord of the Rings, and there is a passing reference to a quote from Juno in there, props to anyone who catches it.

I sat on my bed in my room, twirling my keys and looking at the pictures sitting on the desk and hanging on the wall before me. So many pictures, so many memories … football games, parties, ceremonies, all marked by photographs. And in almost every one of them, was my best friend. Bob Sheldon.

In one, he was grinning like mad after winning a football game, one arm slung around my shoulder and the other raised in victory. In another, we stood side by side along with Michael and David, dressed to the nines and ready to take our dates to the dance. In yet another, he jokingly held a glass of water over my head, threatening to tip it right when the picture was snapped. He hadn't done it; after teasing me about it he simply withdrew the glass and flashed that crazy smile he was so infamous for. I had shaken my head, remarked something about him being crazy and he had laughed.

It was still hard to believe that he was really gone. We had done everything together, play sports, pick up girls, party. This year, we were going to graduate together, but now it was never going to happen, and all because of one night filled with bad decisions.

I had visited Johnny Cade earlier today. I was afraid of what he would think of me visiting him, if he would be scared or surprised or what, but I didn't care; I had to apologize. He had killed Bob, and it felt weird to visit Johnny, but if truth be told, I didn't feel even a small measure of resentment toward him like Cherry did. After all, it was all my fault.

I was the one that had gotten Bob into drinking in the first place; if it had been any other person to ask Bob if he wanted a drink he would have said no, but for me he said yes. From there, he latched onto it, and even had tried to get his parents attention with it – to no avail – all because I had handed him that first beer.

It was like I had triggered a self-destruct mechanism within him, and there was no stopping it. All of a sudden, he wanted to drink every time we hung out; we would barely get out of the school doors and he would ask, "Got any beer at your house? If not, I got some at mine…"

He just wanted to escape his mundane life, escape the pressure of the good grades and winning games and being all that entailed being a soc. Because of his status, he couldn't even have the girl that he wanted; sure, she was pretty, though quiet and book-ish, and Bob became fascinated with her from the first time he saw her, but she was a poor greaser. In fact, she lived no less than two blocks away from the Shepard house, and because of that, she was off-limits. For all the money and pomp that came with being a soc, for all the things we could afford and have, it was ironic that the one thing that Bob Sheldon really wanted, he couldn't get: a greaser girl named Anne Larson.

But football players weren't supposed to like low-class greaser girls who played the cello and probably wanted to be children's librarians when they grew up. They were supposed to like the perfect cheerleaders. So instead of chasing Anne, he hooked up with a girl who wanted him more than he wanted her. Cherry Valance was the perfect girlfriend for someone like Bob Sheldon, or at least from the outside it looked like that.

On the inside, however, Bob still pined for a certain raven-haired girl who happened to live on the wrong side of town.

Bob never really troubled anyone else with this, only me and only when he was drunk enough to let his guard down. It was in those vulnerable moments, when he confessed everything from his love for Anne to his fondness for sunsets and even to the fact that he liked Elvis.

I smirked and half-chuckled when I remembered him doing a drunk rendition of "Jailhouse Rock", swinging and swaying alright, but nothing like Elvis had done. I had thought he had lost his mind, and maybe he had.

Bob was an odd one when he was drunk; he could be happy and laughing one moment and then angry and violent the next. Usually you were one or the other, but Bob was both. It could get scary being around him like that, but as long as you didn't provoke him, he would be ok. When Cherry started to run off with those greasers, Bob had really snapped out. Sure, he didn't really want her, didn't really love her, but she was still his. I should have just dropped him off at home and not agree to drive around with him looking for them, but I didn't. Yet another bad decision on my part, yet another strike of guilt against me. And now, because of my bad decisions, my best friend was dead, another kid was dying, and the teenagers of Tulsa were about to rip the town apart.

They would rumble tonight, but no matter who won, it wouldn't matter. Greasers would still be greasers and socs would still be socs, just like I had told Ponyboy only half an hour ago. "You know, sometimes I think it's the ones in the middle who are the lucky stiffs," Bob had said to me once. I had never given it much thought; in fact, I hadn't given it any thought at all until recently. He was right.

 _War will make corpses of us all._ I had read that somewhere, though at the time I hadn't fully understood it.

Now I did.

I sighed with resolution, picking up my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. I had meant what I said to Ponyboy, I was going to get away, if only for a little while. Away from the madness and the fighting that would never solve anything.

Away from the war before I became a corpse, myself.


End file.
